The Speciation of Science Journalists

 

As a journalist, especially a science journalist, it’s my professional duty to ask stupid questions. I’m supposed to have, on your behalf, my share of what my fellow LWONer Cassie Willyard so aptly calls “Hubble moments.” I’m supposed to be a lifelong amateur, someone who can understand and explain science without losing sight of its everyday significance — someone who’s always willing to ask, “Yeah, but so what?”

But as science journalists move forward in our careers, we tend to speciate. Even freelancers, who can easily cross the boundaries of formal beats, develop expertise in certain fields, and expertise naturally narrows and deepens over time. A 500-word story about widgets leads to a longer one and then an even longer one, and before you know it Terry Gross is calling to interview you about the European widget crisis.

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Floater

image credit: lo.re.n.zoThe second I close the hatch behind me, it occurs to me that I have watched far too many horror movies for this to end well. I’m in the basement of a building in South London where people shell out £45 to spend an hour in a sensory deprivation tank. The shiny white pod is about the size of a SmartCar, and its rounded edges remind me a bit of the futuristic, streamlined vehicles in Minority Report. Inside, the total-immersion bathtub is flooded with an unearthly blue light and a quietly swishing mass of water that’s been doped with enough magnesium salts to let me float handily on top, just a bit more than what’s in the Dead Sea.

There’s also a light switch, an intercom and a spray bottle of freshwater. I find out soon enough why that spray bottle is there. It takes me only about five seconds to get the super-saline water in my eyes, and the stinging is as horrible as it was predictable. I spend the first few minutes alternating between accidentally rubbing my eyes and frantic spritzing. So much for sensory deprivation.

But even after I figure out how to stop injuring myself, I can’t surrender to feeling nothing. Each time I turn off the light and succumb to the pitch black, a tentacled monster emerges from a far corner of my Hollywood-sullied imagination and I immediately need to flip the switch to convince myself that I’m not about to die an ignominious death worthy of another Final Destination sequel. I don’t know what all this says about my psyche, but I do know, as I reach for the light for the 15th time, that I have a very long hour ahead of me. Continue reading

What Makes a Pun Funny?

Comedian Jessica Kirson, as captured by the inimitable Brian Friedman

My name is Ginny and I’m an adult pun-lover. When I hear a good one — Photons have mass? I didn’t even know they were Catholic! — I don’t roll my eyes or smirk. I double over laughing, like a 7-year-old.

What is it exactly that makes a pun funny (at least to those of us who humbly accept the power of the pun)?

That’s the underlying question of a brain imaging study I came across last week. Its pretty pictures don’t answer the question, really, but they’re interesting all the same. And provocative: the data could have way-down-the-road relevance for communicating with people in vegetative states.
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Dining: A Greener Shade of Crow

Constable's Wivenhoe Park, Essex, 1816. NGA.The opening scene paints a picture as bucolic as anything John Constable managed, albeit in broad, animated strokes. Green fields at morning, distant mountains, a small, loving farm family and the contented grunt of a well-cared-for pig set a tone of agrarian delight. But just 20 seconds into the short video and that porker is penned up. By the time Willie Nelson starts crooning a Coldplay tune at 0:33, we’re into the age of industrial agriculture, complete with a multi-tiered pork factory pumping out chemically enhanced cubes of pink piggie flesh.

Well before a determined little animated farmer starts kicking over the enclosures and letting the livestock roam free again, I knew that I’d use this tasty bit of sustainable agriculture eco-propaganda as a discussion piece in my environmental communication class at Stanford. The capsule history of agriculture’s struggle with sustainability was nicely handled, but what really grabbed me was the design. The round, eraser-pink pigs, rotund, PlaySkoolish people and model railway backdrops evoke not just a comforting, idealized view of country living, but the innocence of childhood play, turned first foul, and then pure again. The history of agricultural development had become a morality play, all spooled out in a 2-minute stop action film.

Which NGO or advocacy group had come up with the cash and marketing savvy to produce such a sophisticated little emotion-booster, I wondered?

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Abstruse Goose: Partners

Theorists really do think this, that maybe every fundamental particle has a so-far-invisible partner.  The partners’ names are just the names of the regular particles only with an “s” in front: squarks, selectrons.  The Large Hadron Collider (LHC)  in Switzerland is kicking up a lot of dust looking for them (and for another putative particle called the Higgs); and every now and then, the LHC announces it may or may not have found something or other that undermines the foundations of the entire physics enterprise but only somewhere around a 2-sigma level which may or may not indicate these partners exist.  If they do, they’ll solve Richard’s dark matter problem.

Abstruse Goose’s little jokes:  particles are attractive to other particles with the opposite charge; all particles have an assigned mass; quarks (which make up the likes of protons and neutrons) come in six flavors — up, down, top, bottom, strangeness, and charm.  SUSY, the name of the theory proposing the partners, would unify the four forces of the universe; it’s pronounced soosie and stands for SUperSYmmetry.  SOL, I feel sure you already know.

Meanwhile, you’d do well to keep your eye on the LHC.

http://abstrusegoose.com/368

On Culture and Biological Clocks

In our centuries-old tradition of interviewing the Persons of LWON who are authors of newly-published books, here is our interview with Jessa about her new book, The Siesta and the Midnight Sun.

Q:  Your book is about, as you say, “the body clock as a biological universal, a foundation on which cultures lay their own rituals and rhythms.”  So every living thing has a clock and in each one of those living things, each organ also has a clock?  Does the body then have some sort of master clock?  I mean, otherwise how does anything get done?

A:  Circadian rhythms – or biological clocks that run on daily cycles – are a result of life having evolved on a rotating planet. The human body has lots of internal clocks, oscillations that take roughly 24 hours to complete their cycle, and they are all coordinated by the suprachiasmatic nucleus (SCN), a bundle of neurons in the brain’s hypothalamus. It conducts the body’s internal orchestra in a few different ways, including triggering melatonin release into the bloodstream to initiate sleep.

Q:  How many kinds of clocks are there? or rather, how many kinds of things set the clocks? 

A:  Sunlight is by far the most important calibration tool the body has for setting its clock. Particularly the blue region of the visible spectrum. You might be familiar with rods and cones — the photoreceptors in the eye – and it turns out there’s a third photoreceptor whose only job is to measure light levels and send that message to the master clock. We’re also capable of setting our rhythms based on social cues, activity rhythms  and so on, but those are very weak cues compared with light.

Q:  A third photoreceptor! That we don’t use to see!  We detect light but don’t see anything!  Whoa, calm down.   Continue reading

“Reading Minds” with fMRI

Some of you, I suspect, have read in Time, Slate, NPR, Popular ScienceWired, or dozens of other news outlets that scientists have figured out how to read minds. I hate to always be the neurotech downer, but that claim is just false. Laughably false.

That’s not to say that the study behind all of the commotion, published late last month in Current Biology, isn’t impressive and worth talking about. But, as happens all too often with brain imaging studies, this one was hyped, big time. Few reporters* bothered to look for critical, or even thoughtful, comments from experts outside the research team. And so their stories wound up with headlines like, “Scientists Can (Almost) Read Your Mind,” and “Soon Enough, You May Be Able to DVR Your Dreams.”
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Bed Bug Bugaboo


New Yorkers don’t scare easily. They are blasé about crime, absurdly aggressive behind the wheel, and generally indifferent to even the biggest rats. Even vampires don’t inspire fear. I once saw a pair on the N train in Queens, and no one (but me) batted an eyelash. Blood sucking insects, however, are an entirely different matter. Bed bugs will strike terror in the heart of even the most stalwart New Yorker.

New York City is on the front lines of the war against bed bugs. And its inhabitants are in the grip of full-on bed bug paranoia. Local lore has it that many New York movie theaters are infested. So one of my friends now refuses to see films within the city limits. When her husband returns from the cinema, she forces him to strip down at the door. His clothes go immediately into a plastic bag and then into the washer. Full cycle. Extra hot. Continue reading